


The third time

by AliceAyres



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Erotica, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Sexyness, a lot of sex probably, a lot of touching as well, yep we are talking about people almost catching fire because they are touching each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29830488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceAyres/pseuds/AliceAyres
Summary: It is soft; very, very soft. Hannibal touches him in a way that is curious, but respectful. There is a hint of nails, but most of the touch is so light Will doesn’t know why it feels like he is being ripped apart. He swallows hard, suddenly nervous, then puts the glass down. When he finally looks at the other man, he is confused and a bit scared.He is not sure Hannibal is not going to slice his throat; at the same time, he doesn’t think he would ever do that again. He presses himself harder against the countertop, fully aware of his dizziness and about how it made him vulnerable.“Will?” Hannibal mutters, still caressing him. Touching him. Enchanting him. Will doesn’t know which option was the most probable. “Am I hurting you?”
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> It's been a long time.
> 
> This story has been on my mind for a few days and, after two glasses of wine, I decided to write it down.
> 
> It's going to be sexy - I hope - and probably, if my drunk state allows me, a little romantic.
> 
> PLEASE, spot the mistakes. I am not a native speaker of English, so there is a chance I will write some very strange phrases. Send the correction to me, please - this is how I get better at writing porn. Ha. Joking. 
> 
> NOT BETA'D.

In Hannibal’s defense, it wasn’t his fault this time.

Will was alone in the living room, reading a book with a very concentrated face. After observing him for a few minutes - because it was still a mystery how someone could be so effortlessly beautiful in pajama pants and flannel shirts -, Hannibal came closer.

Will didn’t raise his head; strangely, it felt good to be ignored - that meant Will was relaxed enough in their house and not worried about being attacked or, god forbid, stabbed again. Moved by a feeling he would find hard to describe, Hannibal touched Will’s neck with his fingertips, trying to show him he was around.

When Will shivered, Hannibal’s eyes got big. He kept his fingers there as Will looked at him.

“What are you doing?”, Will asked, and it was good not to find any sign of offense in his voice.

“Nothing,” Hannibal answered, because that was true. “I just wanted to make you aware of my presence.”

“I see,” Will muttered. “It’s, hm, ok.”

Hannibal’s nails scratched Will’s neck softly, trying to understand more of that reaction. Will’s breath stopped for a second and he made a very, very polite sound - something like a whine or a shy moan. Hannibal gulped as he kept doing that, observing the way the caress raised the hairs of Will’s nape.

Will got up abruptly, his face a little red. Holding the book close to his heart, like one who was trying to protect himself from a great amount of exposure, he muttered something Hannibal really didn’t pay attention to, then excused himself and left the room. The psychiatrist remained in silence.

_________________________________________

The second time was very much his fault.

Will was washing the dishes, a thing he had insisted on doing after dinner, and he was talkative and relaxed. It was interesting to see him like that, so open, after only two glasses of wine. 

“But you know what,” he says, washing the forks with the ability of a child with two, maybe three broken fingers. Hannibal would have to wash everything again, but he didn’t care. It was a little unusual to see someone else in his kitchen, touching his pans with zero care, but it was… casual. Intimate. Hannibal craved intimacy in a way he would never let himself think about. “I really don’t see the appeal of it. I mean, most women are starving to look like that, but it’s just… I don’t know, it doesn’t feel good to touch someone whose bones are jumping. I have nothing against skinny people, of course, but sometimes I am scared I will break them.”

“Isn’t it good, though?”, Hannibal asked softly, drinking a little more of his wine. Will raised his eyebrow and looked at him over his shoulders, expecting him to keep on talking. “Breaking someone is not that bad.”

“We can’t have normal conversations, can we?”, Will says, but he is not uncomfortable.

“Of course we can,” Hannibal says. There is a hint of a smile in his face, which is something that rarely happens. There is a chance, he thinks to himself, that I am a little drunk. “Just to clarify…”

“Yes, go ahead,” Will laughs, amused, and goes back to washing their plates. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Hannibal answers immediately.

“Would you give me another glass of wine?”, he asks, not looking at Hannibal this time. “You were right about this one.”

“Sure”, Hannibal answers, even though that was not the question he was hoping for. He got up, holding his own glass, and grabbed the bottle. As he got closer, he couldn’t help but notice -- “Your face is blushed.”

“It’s the wine,” Will laughs, washing the last pan. He puts it by his side and dries his hands in one of Hannibal’s expensive dishcloths. He stares at the glass Hannibal is offering him. “Isn’t it yours?”

“Yes, it is,” Hannibal answers as Will turns, pressing his back against the marble countertop. “I don’t think it is fair to use one of the glasses you have just cleaned. Mine is already dirty; why don’t you drink from it?”

“Should I be worried?” Will jokes, accepting the glass from Hannibal’s hand. The older man clicks his tongue, which makes the other laugh. Will drinks, slowly, savouring the taste of a wine we would never buy.

His thoughts are interrupted. 

Hannibal’s touches his Adam's apple with a warm hand. He freezes in place, alarmed.

It is soft; very, very soft. Hannibal touches him in a way that is curious, but respectful. There is a hint of nails, but most of the touch is so light Will doesn’t know why it feels like he is being ripped apart. He swallows hard, suddenly nervous, then puts the glass down. When he finally looks at the other man, he is confused and a bit scared.

He is not sure Hannibal is not going to slice his throat; at the same time, he doesn’t think he would ever do that again. He presses himself harder against the countertop, fully aware of his dizziness and about how it made him vulnerable.

“Will?” Hannibal mutters, still caressing him. Touching him. Enchanting him. Will doesn’t know which option was the most probable. “Am I hurting you?”

“Hurting? No,” he frowns; the question sounds strange in Hannibal’s voice. The other man comes closer, his body emanating heat, and Will thinks that maybe, just maybe, there was something in the wine. He feels hot, much more than he usually does, and it is both pleasing and inconvenient.

“What were you saying?” Hannibal asks and Will shakes his head; he doesn’t know. He really doesn’t know. Hannibal shows a little teeth; it’s the phantom of a smile. Will is nervous; he knows what those teeth can do. He has seen it before, he has seen it, the way Hannibal destroyed Francis’ throat would never leave his mind. “I remember… It was something about… breaking someone?”

“Hannibal,” Will calls him in a low tone, and it is enough to make Hannibal’s fingertips stop their magic. He looks at the boy carefully, trying to read his expression. “You asked me if you were hurting me. You are not. But are you going to?”

“Excuse me?”, it’s Hannibal’s time to offer him a frown. It takes him a few seconds to understand what Will is talking about; when he gets it, his expression changes completely. Sweetly, like he was asking for Will’s permission, his hand goes to the back of the other man’s neck. He touches it delicately, delighted by the fact it was enough to cause a shiver. “No, Will. I will not. You are not understanding it, are you?”

“I… don’t know?”, Will tries, shy, and it’s hard, it’s damn hard not to kiss him. Hannibal sighs, shaking his head. He removes the glass from Will’s closed fist and puts it on the countertop. He grabs Will’s hand and, slowly, puts it on his own waist. Will’s eyes are wide as he tries to read between the lines.

“I wish I could break you,” Hannibal mutters. He caresses Will’s nape, firmer this time, and Will makes a noise that is unsure, but not bad at all. “Not in the way you are probably thinking, though.”

“Which way are you talking about?”, he asks, his shoulders still rigid. He doesn’t remove his hand from Hannibal’s waist.

Hannibal doesn’t answer. He looks at Will for a while, then slowly moves his head down. The first touch of his lips on Will’s throat provokes a verbal reaction, then Will gets immobile and just waits. It would be easy to kill him, indeed; Hannibal just doesn’t want to. He kisses the reddened skin, enjoying the texture of it. It is unfair, really, how good he feels.

When he lets his tongue out, Hannibal moans. He doesn’t miss the way Will’s fingers grab his waist. They are strong in their holding, but are also shaking. 

He licks slowly, enjoying the taste of sweat and cologne, and comes closer to him. He presses him gently against the countertop, loving how their bodies are finally together after so long - the last time, they were falling together. They still are. He doesn’t think he will ever stop falling for and with him. Beautiful thing, this scared boy, he thinks. How good he feels pressed against me.

His other hand travels up Will’s arm, slowly and willing to learn the way he likes to be touched. He maps the size of his biceps, learns the shape of his shoulder, then finally touches his hair. It’s soft against his fingertips; Hannibal always knew it would be like this.

His mouth goes up; he kisses Will’s neck, winning each new territory like a man who was starving for victory, and tries not to moan again when he gets to Will’s face. He kisses it, once, twice, then goes to his earlobe. He mouths it, then bites softly at it. Will’s breath is already less controlled, which is enough to make Hannibal a little more blunt:

“This is what I meant,” he whispers in his ear. Will closes his eyes. Hannibal’s nose travels to his cheek. He nuzzles against it for a second, then kisses it. Then, his hands hold Will’s face and he looks straight at him; he wants him to know what he is about to do. “Look at me.”

Will opens his eyes. An ocean, waiting to be known. An ocean, waiting to drown him in. Their lips are almost touching, but Hannibal stops. Will’s body is still tense and shaky - there is fear yet. He knows it well. He doesn’t want it, no; he wants willingness, desire, a body ready to take and to give anything. He kisses the corner of Will’s lips. The boy feels he needs to learn how to breath again.

“Will”, he says, his voice suffocated by the smaller man’s skin. “I would kiss the doubt away from you anytime.”

“But…?”, Will mutters, and it’s almost hard to listen to him.

“But I think I will wait,” he says, kissing the same spot once again. “Until you want it so much there will be no space for doubt.”

Will doesn’t move as Hannibal takes one, then two steps back. His hand, which was before on Hannibal’s body, just falls by his side.

“I,” he starts, then goes mute. Hannibal waits, but Will doesn’t know what to say. Have I done something wrong, he thinks. “I… I guess.”

“You guess what?”, Hannibal whispers, still near him.

“This is how you break me?”

Hannibal stops. He swallows hard.

“Not yet.”

The older man doesn’t think - so rare, it is -; he just bends and touches Will’s lips with his own. It’s soft, just a brief touch, but it is enough. Will closes his eyes and doesn’t open them even when Hannibal leaves the kitchen.

It takes him a few minutes to finally stare at the emptiness of the room. God, he thinks, have mercy on me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you.
> 
> Posting the second chapter. I think there are more two to come.
> 
> Again: english is not my first language, so mistakes will happen. Feel free to correct me.
> 
> Also, not BETA'D.

When he wakes up in the morning, there is one less coat in the hanger.

Will never gets up before seven - which is the hour Hannibal starts cooking his breakfast -, but for some reason he is just not there.

Hannibal breaks an egg in the pan Will has - not - washed - correctly - the night before. He decides not to wash it again.

He serves himself a glass of wine. It’s seven p.m. somewhere in the world, Will would say, so it doesn’t really matter. He takes a sip. He thinks he would like it more if he could drink it directly from Will’s mouth. He didn’t really taste it, no, but he supposes it must be the most delicious thing in the world.

He almost regrets the fact he did not kiss him. He knows the boy would have let him. But letting was not enough: Hannibal wants participation. The rest can wait.

He eats his breakfast alone; there is a part of him who expects Will to come home soon and tell him he was just jogging and deciding what they are going to do about the things which were interrupted the night before. The other part of him knows, however, that the man is probably still trying to understand the recent events.

It shouldn’t, but it does pain him that Will thought he would do him any harm. He wishes he could change it, the fear - it is not good when it comes from him. Being feared is something that pleases Hannibal in more ways than one, indeed, but not in such a situation. 

No, he wants to get under Will’s skin, wants to know how he looks when he is not thinking about anything. He loves his pretty mind, his perceptions of the world, the way he can read everyone - but that is also not enough. There is more about Will to be known and those parts can’t be accessed if he is not willing to let Hannibal in.

Hannibal wants all of him, but he doesn’t want to ask. He wants Will to come to him, to offer himself to his touching. He knows he is not good with boundaries. He doesn’t really respect them. But he can’t take that much by force. And, if he wants to be very honest, he doesn’t want to. 

He pours himself more wine. It is impressive, after all those years, how Will still makes him weak and surprised. As he drinks, he looks at the front door, hoping - he thinks about Will returning, sweaty from one hour of running from himself, killing the distance between them and kissing him. Then, he pictures himself throwing him on the table and eating every single one of his moans. He wants all of them. They are all his. That’s what he wants.

He drinks alone for one hour. The door remains closed.

\-----------------

Will doesn’t come back until it’s almost midnight. Hannibal knows because he is still waiting for him.

He is sitting on their sofa, legs crossed and a red sweater, and welcomes a very silent Will with his eyes. He doesn’t move nor says anything; he just pretends it is all casual and goes back to the book he is not reading.

Will removes his coat, then his boots. He looks at Hannibal from a distance and waits for him to look at him again.

“Hello, Will,” he concedes, still looking at the book. “Did you eat?”

“Yes,” Will lies. Hannibal makes a sound of approval, then sips from a tea that is not hot anymore. “I was just running.”

“I’m aware,” Hannibal nods.

“Really, I was just exercising. Then I went to the city…”

“Will,” Hannibal says, softly. “You don’t have to explain.”

Will looks hurt, but Hannibal doesn’t see it. The boy nods, then turns to go. In a few minutes, there is water running in the bathroom. Hannibal sighs, closing the book; then, he closes his eyes. He can see it in his mind, the way the water travels down Will’s body, dances around the scar Hannibal gave him years before. He would love to see it again - he doesn’t really know how it looks; he can just suppose its shape.

Will’s body is something that he tries not to fully create in his mind. Not because he doesn’t want to - again, he thinks about it quite frequently -, but because he expects to truly see it someday, ready and naked in all its glory.

Sometimes he wonders if touching him is like finding god. Will is probably the only religion Hannibal has ever wanted to join in.

“I don’t know how it works,” Will says, coming down the stairs.

“Excuse me?”, Hannibal says, opening his eyes. 

Will approaches him slowly. Hannibal puts the book on the center table, then waits. Will’s hair is wet and he is not wearing much. Hannibal would think that, after what happened, he would be more worried about covering his body. Once again, he was wrong.

He can’t really say he is sorry.

“What did you try to do last night?”

“When, exactly?”, Hannibal asks, controlled. Will licks his lips; he is not angry, but he is not calm either. There is a turbulence inside him, something that he is trying to solve.

“You've never done it before,” Will says. He is still standing, which is a proof he is trying not to let himself relax. Hannibal doesn’t like it. “Just talk to me.”

“What do you wish me to tell you?” Hannibal says as he uncrosses his legs. He wants Will to see he is open, unarmed.

“I don’t know, Hannibal,” Will shrugs, allowing himself to sit on the arm of the other sofa. He is keeping a distance, which is uncommon, but Hannibal tries not to be affected by it. “Tell me something true.”

“You were scared.”

Will stops. He blinks, taken aback by what he has just heard, but doesn’t say anything. He corrects his posture.

“Why do you say that?”

“I felt it,” Hannibal answers; there is no hesitation in his voice.

“How?”

“Your body,” Hannibal sounds gentle, like he was trying to offer Will a narrative he would like to hear. “And you asked me whether I was going to hurt you or not. I must say I wasn’t expecting the question.”

“You never touched me like that,” Will mutters. Hannibal’s face gets less tense.

“You are right,” Hannibal concedes. “Was it offensive?”

“I wouldn’t say offensive,” Will says, his voice still slow, like he was giving himself time to think about the words he was going to say. “It is just not usual. Most of our touching is just… respectful.”

“I apologize.”

“No,” Will swings his head, then wheezes, frustrated. “It is just hard to explain.”

“I may be able to help you,” Hannibal offers. “It was different, I agree, from our previous interactions. You were scared I would hurt you if you told me you were not comfortable with my actions. Am I correct?”

“No,” Will arches an eyebrow, then becomes neutral again. “I didn’t think about it like that. I just thought… That was the way you were going to kill me.”

“With my mouth on your neck?”

“Yes,” Will bites his bottom lip; Hannibal stares at it, then looks back at his eyes. “I was an easy target, I suppose.”

“Yes, I believe we can put it like that,” Hannibal agrees, then goes on. “I would ask you why you’d think I was going to kill you, but it’s not necessary. I assure you, however, that this is not what I had in mind when I touched you yesterday.”

“Do you fantasize about killing me?”

Hannibal stops. He remembers that conversation. His memory goes somewhere distant, to a very specific moment of their lives, and he knows where Will is coming from. He observes him, the soft marks of time in his face, the scar on his cheek, the beard that fails to cover it. It has been a long time since they have found themselves in such a dynamic.

“Not anymore,” Hannibal says, and it is so brutally honest Will doesn’t react for a while. He just stays there, letting the words sink in. “And I would not use my teeth. You deserve more.”

“What do I deserve?”, Will asks abruptly, narrowing his eyes. His posture is slowly changing, getting a little more defensive, and Hannibal can see it perfectly. He doesn’t like where they are going; this is not what he was expecting from that conversation. “What should I wait for?”

“As I told you, Will,” Hannibal doesn’t change his tone. “I don’t fantasize about killing you anymore. It is a thought that I would not feed. I prefer you alive and breathing, right in front of me.”

“You have always touched me,” Will says, then. Hannibal makes a sound, showing him he is listening. “Since the day we met, you always found a way to touch me. But it was… discreet. What has changed?”

“We have changed,” Hannibal says, still honest. Will is not sure he can handle that much honesty, but he has asked for it, so he will not run from it. “I needed it.”

“You needed it?”, Will repeats, but it is not a question. He looks down; there is a moment in which Hannibal has the impression he can see the thoughts running, breaking, collapsing inside his head. He doesn’t confirm or deny anything; instead, he just waits. He has been waiting for so long, anyway. “Since when?”

“I would not be able to say,” Hannibal answers, once again without thinking too much. “Did I touch you in a way that reminded you of something that is not pleasant?”

“No,” Will says, but it is not convincing. Hannibal raises his head attentively.

“When I touch you,” Hannibal starts, softly. “Does it feel pleasurable?”

“It feels reassuring.”

“Being physically close to someone makes you nervous?”

“No, Hannibal,” Will sighs. “Being close to you makes me nervous.”

Hannibal gets silent. Will touches his own face, unsure. Hannibal hums. “Would you be able to tell me why that is?”

“Everytime you get that close,” Will starts, then he stops. “Nevermind.”

“Please,” Hannibal asks, and he is indeed asking. “I would like to hear it.”

“I am not sure,” Will says, and it is not hard to see that his shoulders are rigid. “...that I want you to hear it.”

“There is no need to be scared,” Hannibal soothes him. “I assure you I will not…”

“Everytime you get too close, something terrible happens,” Will blurts out.

Hannibal wasn’t expecting it to hurt that much. 

Despite the awkward sting in the center of his chest - one he was definitely not used to feeling -, he managed to just nod. “I understand.”

“It started with the knife,” Will’s voice is a little faster this time, like he was trying to express many things at once. He takes a deep breath, staring at Hannibal’s face. “I still have it. With me. The scar. As you know. Not only that one, but…”

He points to his face, to Francis’ mark on him. Hannibal licks his lips, feeling strangely thirsty, then takes a sip of his very cold tea.

“Will you say something?” Will asks. Hannibal shakes his head; he wants Will to go on. “This is not what I meant.”

“I completely understand,” Hannibal’s tone is calm, like they were in therapy.

“No, you don’t.”

Hannibal tilts his head slightly to the side, still tranquil. “Just like I told you, Will, there is no need…”

“I understand pain. And violence. I also understand that those things are you,” Will says, eyes fixed on Hannibal’s face. “The last time you held me, we fell from a cliff. And I... ”

“You...?”

“I wanted to. You are right. I am afraid”, Will inhales. “I am afraid because, even when you hurt me, I always want to stay.”

Hannibal Lecter is a man who always knows what to do. He never hesitates - except, of course, when Will Graham is next to him. He is not sure the boy will ever be aware of the power he has over the other. He stays exactly in the same position, waiting for Will to make a move.

“What did you think when you touched me yesterday?”, Will asks, voice low.

“I was not thinking,” Hannibal starts, gently. “I just wanted to.”

“Why would you?”

“It is impossible not to,” Hannibal says. “I stayed too.”

They stare at each other for a while in deep, deep silence. Will gets up, hair still wet, and walks until he is in front of Hannibal.

“How exactly would you like to break me this time?” Will whispers.

Hannibal’s face is one of surprise. He raises his hands, slowly putting them on Will’s hips. “With pleasure.”

Will swallows hard. Hannibal kisses his still covered stomach, then looks up to him.

“Still shaking,” Hannibal whispers against him.

“Yet,” Will mutters, his hand finding Hannibal’s hair.

“Slowly?”, Hannibal asks.

“Yes.”


End file.
